


Call Me Up, Take Me Down

by acciocreativity (condescendingsmirk)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 13:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/condescendingsmirk/pseuds/acciocreativity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam and Zayn talk a very skeptical Louis and Harry into going on a blind date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me Up, Take Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on livejournal nearly a year ago, when i was even less experienced and louis being able to pick harry up was a lot more plausible. and i was a valiant bottom!harry stan (not that they have sex, anyway, but still). also i was mildly offensive. meh, what can you do.

Harry stirs his tea distractedly, chewing on his bottom lip to keep the sarcastic remarks threatening to burst through them at bay.

“Zayn,” he tries again, raising his gaze to meet that of his best friend’s with raised eyebrows. “I appreciate the effort, really. I do. But I’m perfectly capable--”

“Well, for one thing, you’re _not_ ,” Zayn cuts in with a smirk. “When was the last time you went out with somebody other than me or Niall, Harry? Think about it.” 

Harry doesn’t need to think about it. “My lack of interest doesn’t mean I can’t get laid, Zayn. I’m just busy with school,” he shrugs, trying to look convincing and rolling his eyes as Zayn’s smirk widens into something far too knowing for his liking.

“Okay, yeah. Sure. But it’s not just that, Haz. From what Liam tells me, he’s perfect for you."

Harry remains visibily uninterested, so Zayn tries again. "Like, _perfect_."

“Mhm,” Harry murmurs into his cup. “I’m sure he is.”

“Only one way to find out.”

“You’re relentless."

“Is that a yes?” Zayn asks, leaning back slightly and tilting his head to the side hopefully.

“What? No!” Harry exclaims. “That was a subtle dig at you, actually. No one likes pushy people.” 

Zayn gets momentarily distracted from having to reply when their waitress suddenly appears and sets their bill on the table, smiling far too brightly at Zayn as she does so. “Did you enjoy your breakfast?” she asks, tucking her dark hair behind her ear daintily and sticking her tongue out slightly to wet her bottom lip. Harry raises an eyebrow, which goes completely unnoticed as the pretty brunette continues to grin down at Zayn.

“Yeah, it was great. Thanks,” Zayn returns the smile briefly before glancing down at the bill. The girl hovers for a moment longer before she quickly turns on her heel and heads back to the counter, glancing back a few times as she does so.

“Well, at least she’s discreet,” Harry comments idly. 

Zayn shoots him a grin and flashes the bill at him, holding it up between two fingers. For a moment Harry wonders if this is his way of asking him to pay for the breakfast that he was basically dragged to until he notices the seven digits scrawled at the bottom. 

“Is that - _how_?” Harry demands, grabbing the bill from his friend’s hand to make sure he isn’t imagining things. Nope, definitely a phone number.

Zayn shrugs a shoulder. “I’m irresistible.”

Harry stares blankly.

“You, on the other hand, need some help,” Zayn states, and the younger boy rolls his eyes as the conversation is forced back to his lack of a love life. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Hm, let’s see,” Harry rests his cheek in the palm of his hand, contemplating. “Well, he could be a hermaphrodite.”

“Doubtful.” 

“A serial killer?” 

“Oh, come on.” 

“A douche bag?” Harry tries, quite genuinely this time, and Zayn sighs in exasperation. 

“Harry,” he argues. “I’m not just doing this because I think you need to go out. I’m doing this because I really, really think you’ll like him, and Liam agrees. Just give it a chance."

“I just don’t see the point in forcing myself to go out with someone I don’t even know when I’m perfectly content with you and Niall.” 

“As sweet as that is, Harry, there are some things Niall and I just can’ take _care_ of for you,” Zayn says pointedly, holding back a grin as Harry turns pink and lowers his face into his hands with a groan. When he surfaces again a moment later, he looks defeated.

“Fine. I’ll give you - him - a chance. One, Zayn,” Harry continues, before Zayn’s expression can brighten into one of success too thoroughly. “Just to get you to shut the hell up about it.”

Zayn nods enthusiastically, already taking out his cell phone and presumably texting Liam. 

“Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, too, Malik,” Harry demands, but he’s smiling. “You know I’m going to hate it.” 

“Mhm, I’ll remind you of that when you come crawling on your hands and knees to my room later tonight, thanking me for being the best best friend you’ve ever had,” Zayn replies, swiftly moving his fingers across his iPhone. “Hell, if this goes over well maybe you can stop using up all the hot water in the mornings. I get that you’ve got stuff you need to take care of, Harry, but a man needs his morning showers and--”

“Zayn, shut up!” Harry cries, looking around the crowded restaurant and blushing again. “I do not,” he continues after a second, more quietly.

“Yeah, you do,” Zayn throws back easily, crumpling the bill in his fist and standing up. Harry doesn’t reply, because - well, yeah - and stands up as well, slipping his hoodie back on and following Zayn to the counter to pay. 

“Tonight at 9:00,” Zayn tells him, reading the news off of his phone, and Harry resists the urge to pout. “At Cowell’s Pub.” 

“Great,” Harry says sarcastically, as Zayn pays the same waitress who had given him her number a few minutes ago. She eyes the crumpled bill in Zayn’s hand curiously. “Just one more thing.”

“Yeah?” 

“What’s his _name_?”

___________________________________________________________

“Louis,” Liam whines, frowning even though the other boy can’t see it through the phone.  

“Liam,” his best friends mocks, smiling at the image of Liam pointlessly frowning into the phone like he’s sure he’s doing. “Sorry, mate. I’m all booked.” 

“Bull. You just said you were free. I asked, like, two minutes ago.”  

“Yeah, and then you asked me to go on a blind date,” Louis reminds him. “Which, quite frankly, is weird as fuck. So I’ve decided I have plans.” 

"No it's not, people do it all the time, Louis," Liam whines. "Look, you like Zayn, right?”

“I barely know Zayn,” Louis tells him. “But yes, I like him well enough.” 

“And this is Zayn’s best friend. So he’s got to be at least half decent, right?” 

“I’m sure he’s splendid,” Louis replies blandly, propping his feet up on the coffee table and readjusting the phone against his ear. “Beautiful logic. But I’m also sure he’s not worth an hour of awkward, uncomfortable small talk. You _know_ how I hate small talk.” 

“No, Louis, you’ll like him. Really. Come on, do it for me?” Liam asks, voice going a little higher like it always does when he puts on his puppy dog face, clearly forgetting he’s on the phone again.

“Christ, what are you even getting out of it?” 

“A happy best friend?” Liam tries. “Or two, because Zayn’s best friend will be happy, too. Which will in turn make Zayn happy. See? It’s win win, really.” 

“Yeah, except for where I lose.”

“If you lose, you can beat me up,” Liam promises instantly, and Louis laughs. “If you don’t do it at all, you have no chance of getting permission to hit me whatsoever. I think your choice should be pretty clear, here.”

Louis pauses for a moment, considering. Worse comes to worst, he can come up with some excuse and get out of there with a promise to Liam that he at least tried. “Okay, I’ll do it,” he relents with a sigh, probably a little bit too easily. Apparently he’s a sucker for Liam’s puppy dog eyes even when he can’t actually _see_ them. “But for the record, I hardly need _permission_ to hit you, Liam. That kind of ruins the whole effect." 

“Yeah, yeah, okay. It’s not going to happen, anyway. You’re going to thank me, I promise,” Liam declares confidently, and before Louis can point out that there is no possible way he can actually make that promise, Liam’s telling him that he’ll text him the details soon and saying goodbye. 

“Liam, wait,” Louis says into the receiver.

“What?" 

“What’s his _name_?”  
___________________________________________________________

Louis’s not sure what he’s expecting, really. He knows (hopes) Liam wouldn’t set him up with someone completely unappealing, but if he’s single and desperate enough to go on a blind date set up by his best friend he can’t exactly be ideal, can he? ‘Curly hair and a navy blazer’ aren't much to go on, so as Louis sits in the booth of some name-forgotten pub, tapping his foot against the floor out of boredom and staring at the door, he can’t exactly be blamed for forgetting about Liam’s description when a very pretty boy opens the door to the pub. It doesn’t even cross his mind, because there’s no way in hell that could possibly be him. 

He’s tall, taller than Louis, and his hair is swept to the side in a curly, windswept mess. He’s wearing a ridiculously low cut white shirt under a navy blazer, and his tan pants are clinging to him in a way that makes Louis bite his lip. He looks a little lost and Louis briefly wonders why, until the newcomer glances his way while studying the room and locks eyes with him. Louis grins a little - out of pure politeness, assuredly, because he’s waiting for a date or something and it would be rude to flirt with a stranger - and the boy returns it shyly before hesitatingly making his way towards Louis’ booth and - wait, _no_. No way that’s him. Liam would have said something, into blokes or not, he would have _noticed_ \--

“Hi,” the boy says shyly when he reaches Louis’ booth, the syllable coming out a bit like a question. His voice is low and kind of rough and nothing like what Louis would have expected, but absurdly fitting, and his curls are still falling into his face a little so he flicks them out of the way impatiently. He looks nervous as he asks, “I’m - I mean, are you--?” 

“Maybe,” Louis smiles again, attempting to hide his mild surprise and tilting his head to the side curiously. He stands, reaches out to shake the boy’s hand. “Harry?” he asks, raising his brows a little bit, and Harry looks relieved as he reaches out to take Louis’ offered hand. 

“I - yeah, I’m Harry,” he says, and Louis’s again a little surprised by how big his hands are and _how fucking pretty he is_. Up close he notices his eyes are green, and big in a way that's really sort of disproportionate to the rest of his face but perfect all the same. “Louis, right?” 

“Yeah, I’m Louis,” he replies, and for some reason he can’t stop grinning as the words tumble out of his mouth, “are you _sure_ you’re Harry?” 

“What?” Harry asks, and he looks embarrassed at the small giggle that escapes his lips. “I’m pretty sure, yeah.” 

“As in Harry-being-convinced-by-his-best-friend-to-go-on-a-blind-date-because-he-doesn’t-go-out-enough, Harry?" 

“Is that what they told you?” Harry asks, cheeks flushing red. 

Louis laughs, delighted at the blush elicited from the other boy. “Is it true?”

“Well, okay, yeah. Maybe,” he relents. “Mostly?”

Louis shakes his head but doesn’t say anything else about it, biting back his genuine confusion as to how the kid could manage to stay single for longer than a few minutes. “I like you,” he tells him bluntly, sliding into the booth as Harry does the same opposite him. 

Harry shakes his head, blush deepening. “You don’t know me,” he smiles, shrugging an easy shoulder. “That explains it.” 

Louis’s suddenly a lot more optimistic about tonight.  
___________________________________________________________

“You don’t know how to play pool?” Louis asks, hours later, eyebrow rising sceptically.

Harry grins and shakes his head, “I’ve just never had a reason to learn, I guess,” he provides. He’s loosened up considerably since settling into his surroundings and Louis’s come to gather that he’s actually rather cheeky. “Looks a bit boring, to be honest." 

Louis blinks. “I knew there had to be _something_ wrong with you,” he says with a sad shake of his head, and Harry rolls his eyes. “You are not leaving me tonight without learning how to play pool,” he announces, standing up suddenly and stretching a hand out to Harry. Harry looks at the extended limb for a moment before smiling, shaking his head bashfully so that his curls fall into his eyes again and placing his hand into Louis’. Louis resists the urge to push the curls back out of his face, because he’d bet anything that they’re soft and bouncy and wonderful, and instead just smiles brightly at him as he pulls him up and out of his seat.

“You are ridiculous,” Harry decides, allowing himself to be pulled along to the pool table in the far corner of the pub. 

“Pleased you’ve noticed,” Louis agrees easily. Harry lets out a giggle at that and Louis pretends that the words ‘adorable so fuck’ don’t cross his mind before promising, “you’ll love it,” and yeah, okay, so he’s aware of the fact that he really doesn’t know the boy or what he’ll love, but Harry’s smile only grows wider and he doesn’t seem to be asking any questions so Louis doesn’t feel the need to correct himself.

“Alright,” he starts when they reach the table, only just realizing that he hasn’t let go of Harry’s hand yet as he goes to reach for the stick. He does so, meeting Harry’s twinkling eyes with a smile, and he decides after only four hours of knowing him he’d have a hard time picturing Harry ever _not_ happy. He’s so full of smiles and a kind of subdued energy and his eyes have been shining all night, and anything other than the complete contentment (with a bit of cheekiness and awkwardness tied in there too) that he radiates would feel just feel _wrong_. “This is the… er, stick thing,” he explains, blinking himself out of his reverie and handing it to Harry 

“Oh, rightly named,” Harry quips, taking it out of Louis’ grasp. “I’ve also heard that it’s called the ‘cue stick’, but…” he trails off with a grin, and Louis rolls his eyes. “That works too.”

“Mindless details, Harry. Now hush, I liked you better when you were too shy to talk,” Louis commands, and Harry laughs again. If he doesn’t stop doing that it’s going to start going to Louis’ head - or other parts of his anatomy, because _god_ , that laugh. 

Harry does hush, though, listening attentively as Louis explains the point of the game. He tries really, really hard to focus on his explanation and not choke on his words as he notices how Harry’s hands are sliding up and down the top half of the cue stick in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Louis swallows. If it weren’t for the grin on the boy’s face he’d have to wonder if he even realized what he was doing.

“Ready?” he asks, eyes now completely and unblinkingly focused on the stick in Harry’s grasp - or, more accurately, the fingers wrapped around it. 

“Whenever you are,” Harry replies, amused, and the tone makes Louis look up into his too-wide, innocent looking eyes with a raised eyebrow. Harry bites back a smirk and skirts over to the table. 

Louis wonders if it’s too soon to be in love. 

“So… how do I hold it, then?” Harry asks, bending over the table slightly and placing a hand on top of the cue stick. He tilts his head slightly and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, looking confused (and impossibly cute, Louis decides) as he rearranges his fingers in uncomfortable positions against the table until another, smaller pair cover his own. Louis presses his chest very lightly against Harry’s back, arms wrapping around him from behind to properly place his fingers on the stick.

“Like this,” he explains quietly, and he feels Harry shake with laughter against his chest. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Harry replies, a smile in his voice. “I just feel like I’m in a really overdone chick flick or something. Ryan Gosling is going to show up with a bouquet of flowers any moment now.” 

Louis laughs, too, and moves to back away before Harry’s hand on his arm stops him, pulling him gently back into place behind him. 

“Hey,” he says softly, leaning into the body behind him. “I like it." 

Louis pauses briefly, not wanting to add to the ‘chick flick’ moment any more, but he’s unable to stop the repeated words as he gushes, “well, I like you." 

“Oh,” Harry says, not shrugging out of the compliment this time and turning in Louis’ arm so that he’s facing him. Louis keeps his hands planted on the pool table so that Harry remains pinned between it and his body, grinning widely when sparkling green eyes meet his own. “That’s good, then, because I’m quite fond of you, too.” 

“Really,” breathes Louis, wondering just how bold it would be to kiss him right now. He’s only known him a few hours and he’s not exactly sure of the boy’s boundaries yet; he doesn’t want to scare him away. Then Harry sticks out his tongue to wet his lips with a small nod of his head and Louis decides that it probably wouldn’t be very bold at all, but before he has a chance to find out, someone clears their throat and the boys look up to find a waitress standing a few metres away, broom in hand. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says, offering an awkward smile. Louis lets his hands fall to his side. “But it’s after midnight. We’re closing now.” 

“Right,” says Louis. “Thanks, love.” 

The girl nods and Louis turns back to Harry, whose cheeks are slightly flushed.

“Need a drive home?” the boy asks him hopefully, eyebrows perking up.

“Yes,” Louis agrees instantly, stepping back and allowing Harry to fumble in his pockets for his keys. “Yeah, definitely."  
___________________________________________________________

“It’s this one here,” Louis directs, and Harry slows to a stop in front of the apartment he’d pointed to. They sit there for a moment - not awkwardly, but in mutual agreement that they don’t really want the night to be over - before Louis clears his throat.

“You’re not even going to offer to walk me to the door?” he asks, turning to face the smiling boy beside him. “And here _I_ thought you were a gentleman."

Harry’s smile turns into a grin and he laughs (Louis decides that he very much likes Harry’s laugh, whether it’s making him cocky or not), reaching to undo his seatbelt before opening the door and slipping out. Louis watches him walk around the front of the car, trying to force back a smile, until he reaches the passenger side and opens it slowly. 

“Did you have a good night, kind sir?” he asks formally, extending his hand for Louis to take. 

“Excellent, thank you,” Louis chirps, accepting Harry’s hand and letting himself be pulled to his feet before grinning playfully and lowering his voice seductively. “Mmm, such strong, manly hands you have. I bet they’re good for--” 

“Louis!” Harry exclaims, losing his carefully composed serious-face and bursting into another fit of laughter. He pulls his hand away and runs a few steps before turning around to walk backwards in front of Louis. “I was trying to be a gentlemen and you had to go and be a slut, way to ruin the moment.” 

“Hey, I’m not a slut. I haven’t made one move on you all night, really,” Louis argues, crossing his arms as he walks. His cheeks ache from smiling so much, so he tries to hold this one back. And fails. 

“Oh, really?” Harry asks, slowing his steps so that Louis catches up slightly and the distance between them lessens. “Because I think you could have explained how to hold a cue stick with your _words_ instead of your body, if we’re being completely honest here.” 

Louis scoffs, voice rising a couple octaves as he mocks the curly haired boy in front of him, “Oh, _Louis_! Don’t stop, I _like_ it.” The mimicking admittedly sounds a little bit more porn-star than when Harry had said it, but he figures it gets the job done. 

Harry stops walking suddenly when he feels something solid behind him, and he turns his head quickly to find Louis’ door against his back. When he turns back the joking glint has left his eyes and Louis’s really, really close. “And I like you,” he responds softly, and it's like they're picking up exactly where they left off at the pub. 

“Do you?” Louis asks, taking one more step forward so that their chests are pressed together lightly. He grips Harry’s belt loops on either side of his hips and pulls them forward gently so that their entire bodies are aligned. 

“Yes,” Harry replies, wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck and tugging him forward a little bit. “Quite a lot, actually."

“That’s good,” Louis breathes, before leaning in the last few remaining inches and claiming the boy’s incredibly plump lips with his own. 

Harry responds immediately, giddily reciprocating the kiss without trying to take control, and Louis pushes him against the door more firmly with two hands on his hips. Harry hums a soft noise of approval against Louis’ lips, moving his hands from where they’re resting on either one of his shoulders to tangle in the older boy’s soft, feathery hair. They stay like that for a minute, kissing simply, before Louis licks across Harry’s bottom lip, unable to resist the voice in the back of his head begging him to take this further. 

Harry’s grip in his hair tightens and he opens his mouth against the pressure of Louis’ tongue, so Louis plunges further, eagerly tasting the inside of Harry’s mouth and deepening the kiss thoroughly. He tries not to whine when Harry pulls back for breath after only a minute of clashing tongues, inhaling deeply. 

“I should probably go…” he says, trailing off, and Louis can’t help but notice that his lips look even more edible when they’re red and kiss-swollen. 

“It’s late,” he agrees with a nod, but making no move to step back, he places another kiss to Harry’s jaw. 

“Mmm,” Harry breathes. Louis’s not sure if it’s in agreement to his words or in appreciation of his actions, because as he wetly kisses his way down his neck, Harry only pulls him closer and toys with his hair some more, tilting his head back and exposing the soft expanse of his neck. 

Louis decides that Harry isn’t going anywhere for at least a couple of minutes, so he drags his mouth up to the other boy’s and kisses him again, impulsively gripping his waist and lifting him up off the ground. Harry gasps into his mouth at the sudden jolt but gets the message, wrapping his legs tightly around Louis’ own waist and leaning down to avoid breaking this kiss. Their tongues tangle again and Harry’s fingers dig into Louis’ shoulders, brush through his hair, span across his chest, and they stay like that until long after Louis’ arms start to ache from the pressure of holding the slightly taller boy against the door. 

“Very tactful distraction,“ Harry pulls back to comment eventually, with a giggle and a kiss to the corner of Louis’ mouth. “You’re good at this.”

Louis grins, kissing Harry’s quite literally delicious lips once more because he can’t not. And then, without really thinking it over, he asks, “would it be really ridiculous of me to invite you inside?"

The lips his eyes are glued to curve into a smirk. “Knew you were a slut.” 

“No, you didn’t,” Louis argues, taking Harry’s lack of an immediate _fuck off_ as a good sign and lowering the boy to the ground, reaching around him to unlock the door. “You do now, but you had no idea then.” 

“And now you’re assuming I’m interested?” Harry questions with fake scepticism, eyes glistening with mirth as Louis steps past him and turns around in the doorframe. He reaches forward and grabs the lapels of Harry’s blazer, pulling him into the apartment and flush against him. 

“Yes,” he answers, finally burying his hands into the curls that had been taunting him all night. “I am, actually.” 

Harry’s already pulling at the zipper of Louis’ sweater. “Good,” he murmurs, kicking the door shut without turning around and kissing Louis with a whole new fervour, holding nothing back because he knows it’s no longer just a goodbye, end-of-date kiss. Louis moans against his mouth at the sudden burst of enthusiasm and starts backing up in search of his bedroom, pulling Harry along without breaking the kiss as they tug at each other’s clothing. 

“Nice flat,” Harry says breathily when they reach Louis’ bedroom door, and Louis guides him back gently until Harry’s sitting on the edge of his bed. He climbs on top of him, straddling his thighs. 

“You haven’t noticed a thing about my flat,” he replies with a grin, bringing their lips together again and, well, Harry’s quite inclined to agree. 

“No, I haven’t,” he mutters against his mouth, tugging at Louis’ braces. Both his sweater and Harry’s blazer had been discarded somewhere on the journey to the bedroom. “But you have a really, really nice ass. It’s a bit insane, actually.” 

Louis hums in response, gripping Harry’s biceps and pushing him flat against the bed, covering his body with his own. “You have a really nice everything,” he breathes hotly in Harry’s ear, and Harry makes a little keening noise before grabbing Louis’ face and pulling his lips down to meet his own once more.

Louis obliges and kisses him quickly, but then pulls back, sitting up so that he’s straddling his waist again. The younger boy looks confused until Louis slips his braces down the rest of the way and pulls off his shirt, throwing it carelessly to the floor before gripping the bottom of Harry’s and doing the same. As soon as the shirt’s over his head Harry’s gripping the back of Louis’ neck and pulling him down, deepening the kiss as soon as their lips meet before Louis has the chance to pull away to remove any more articles of clothing without kissing him properly first.

The heat of their bare chests pressing together makes Louis’ insides burn, and he groans into Harry’s mouth when he feels surprisingly soft hands moving down his back, lighting brushing at the waist of his trousers. He lets his hands slip between their bodies to trail down Harry’s chest in retaliation, stroking across his stomach with his finger tips and smiling into the kiss when the path of his fingers leaves goose bumps against the boy’s skin.

Harry makes a little whining noise when Louis’ fingers dance lower and begin blindly fumbling with the buckle of his jeans, and he arches his hips into the touch, pressing against the beginning of Louis’ own erection and earning another kiss-muffled graon from the boy on top of him. 

“You’re so--” Louis starts against Harry’s lips, but Harry cuts him off by licking into his mouth digging his nails gently into Louis' back, grinding up, determined to elicit another sound like the other out of him. He does so, but it comes out in the form of a word as Louis finishes his sentence and finishes undoing Harry’s trousers at the same time. “ _Hot_ ,” he pulls back and whispers breathlessly. 

Harry’s face heats up, whether at the compliment or at the fact that Louis is once again sitting up to pull off Harry's jeans, leaving him clad in only his tight little briefs. He grins at him briefly just to make sure that Harry will grin back, and he does, brilliantly so, glancing up at him through his lashes with a look of excited expectance shining in his eyes. 

“Have you ever fucked on the first date before?” Louis asks, voice light with genuine curiosity as he tilts his head to the side to study the slightly panting boy beneath him. Harry shakes his head, curls falling into his eyes. Louis smiles at the sight and moves to hover above him, using one hand beside Harry’s head to prop himself up as he uses the other to brush the hair out of the stunning green eyes it was so rudely obstructing from view.

“S’that okay?” Harry whispers, because Louis’s so close that it wouldn’t make any sense not to. His hands (he really does have nice hands, Louis wasn’t exactly kidding earlier) are already fiddling with the button of Louis’ trousers, like he knows the answer. 

“Definitely,” Louis replies anyway, capturing Harry’s still-grinning lips in something probably too dirty to be considered a kiss, full of sliding tongues and clacking teeth and panted breaths.

Harry’s managed to slip Louis’ trousers off completely before the older boy pulls back again as another question forces its way through his lips. “You have before though, right? I mean--” 

“Louis, oh my god,” Harry giggles breathlessly, suddenly pushing at his shoulders and rolling them over so that their positions are switched and he’s hovering above Louis. “I’m not a _virgin_." 

Louis grins a little sheepishly. “Just making sure." 

Harry tilts his head to the side, gnawing on his bottom lip curiously, and Louis finds he quite likes the new change in position. He doesn‘t know if it’s just because Harry’s hair is shadowing his face more, but the boy’s eyes suddenly look a lot darker and Louis finds his own roaming the face above him shamelessly. “And what if I were?” Harry asks quietly, eyes glinting with mischief as he settles between Louis' legs and leans forward to press a kiss to his chest. “Would you still want me?” 

Louis closes his eyes and wants to say ‘fuck yes’ or ‘so fucking bad’ or maybe even just ‘fuck’ because he can’t really think of any other words to express just how badly he would very much still want him, but all that comes out is a sighed “mmm,” as Harry wetly licks across his hardened nipple before blowing at it with cool breath. 

And then suddenly, with a quiet shuffling sound, Harry’s warmth between his thighs disappears and Louis opens his eyes to find him kneeling on the carpet at the foot of the bed. He almost raises a questioning eyebrow until hands grip the underside of his knees and pull until he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, feet planted on the floor with Harry slotted between his legs.

Louis stares down at him with parted lips and dark eyes, nearly gasps at the sight of this _actually_ gorgeous boy - with his messy curls and his swollen lips and his impossibly bright eyes and flushed red cheeks - planted on his knees in front of him, _for_ him. 

“Do you want me to prove it?” Harry asks, blinking up at him with those big fucking eyes and biting back another smirk.

“What?” questions Louis hoarsely, the image of the boy in front of him having momentarily driven the conversation out of his head. 

“That I’m not a virgin,” Harry continues, hands spanning across Louis’ thighs. “Do you want me to prove it to you?" 

“I - fuck, yes. Prove it, Harry.”

So he does.  
___________________________________________________________

Then in the morning, when they wake up to the incessant ringing of Harry’s phone and Louis passes it to him with a smirk and a muttered, “Zayn,” they’ll arrange to meet up for breakfast with their very smug best friends. They’ll try to avoid getting caught playing footsies under the table, and later that night when Louis calls him, Harry will try (and fail) to hide his smile when Louis tells him that he didn’t actually get to teach him how to play pool last night so _naturally_ they’re going to have to get together tonight, too. 

He doesn’t really have an excuse for the third night, and a couple months later when Harry's more or less living at Louis', he won't really need one.


End file.
